Surprise!
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: When Sherlock says 'I have a confession to make', John never thought that it would be this. Slightly AU, but only very slightly. Post-Reichenbach! Parent!lock.
1. Prologue

**Surprise!**

"John..."

"I'm not in the mood, Sherlock."

"I'm sorry that I forgot about our dinner plans. I'm not used to-"

"Yeah, you're not used to being around _people_," John mutters, "because you bloody well lied to us for three years while we thought you were _dead_."

"John, listen to me. There's something that I need to tell you. John. Listen!"

Sherlock grips John's shoulders, stopping him in his place.

"Get off of me, Sherlock, or I'm going home."

"To Mary." Sherlock's voice is sarcastic.

"Yes, to my _girlfriend_. To the only one I've managed to keep because _you haven't been around_," John says, bitingly.

Sherlock releases John's shoulders. "Your heinous choice of women has had nothing to do with me."

"Give me your key."

Sherlock hands over the key to Baker Street. "I have a... I have a confession to make."

The words don't faze John as he unlocks the door and steps inside. They are immediately greeted by the sound of a crying child.

"Shit," Sherlock mutters, before taking the stairs two at a time to the second floor of the flat.

John doesn't move immediately, eyes wide. But then he follows Sherlock up the stairs quicker than he has moved in the past three years.

Sherlock is standing in the middle of the living room, his arms expertly hugging a tiny infant to his chest. He doesn't look up as John enters the room, instead presses his pale lips to the infant's forehead.

"Sher..." John starts, but falters.

The infant's cries have already quieted since Sherlock has picked it up. The distressed whimpers, too, fall into silence as Sherlock gently rocks the child.

John finally finds his words. "Sherlock. Sherlock, what... who's the kid?"

"Her name's Spring," Sherlock murmurs.

"Spring? Like the season."

"Yes."

"Alright..." A silence descends, which John breaks. "Sherlock, whose kid is she and why is she here?"

Sherlock looks up. "Mine. She's... she's mine."

John just stares.

Sherlock smiles awkwardly, looking shy, almost embarrassed.

"Surprise, John. I have a daughter."

* * *

**Cue the dramatic music, the readers panicking, and all total chaos because _Sherlock_ has a _daughter_?**

**Relax. I know it's a bit AU (but it's after Reichenbach, so who knows! :p). But I'm the like the Queen of In-Character. As Douglas Adams would say: don't panic. This is just the teaser chapter. Explanations will be given. (Not to mention lots and lots of adorable Sherlock and John moments, but, later.)**

**I do not own _Sherlock_. Thank you!**


	2. The Surprise

John stared at Sherlock, who had gone back to looking at the baby... Spring... his daughter... as though John wasn't there at all.

John's mind was reeling. He was still trying to catch up with the words _"She's mine"_, let alone process the _"John, I have a daughter"_ bit. He was pretty sure that if his jaw could have hit the floor, it would have done just that _and_ broke the hardwood when it fell. Be that as it may, his mouth _was_ hanging open and he snapped it shut, nostrils flaring.

"What?"

John said, finally finding his way to language. "Your _daughter_?"

Sherlock nodded, although he didn't take his eyes off of the little bundle in his arms. "Yes, John, that is what I said. Have you gone hard of hearing in the past three years as well as gained all that weight?"

John ignored the jibe. "Your _daughter_," he said again.

"Would you please stop repeating yourself?" Sherlock said, slowly sitting down on the sofa. The baby... Spring... cooed quietly before falling silent again, her head pressed in the spot between Sherlock's chest and his arm. "This is what I was trying to tell you."

"That you have a kid!"

Spring's posture shifted, another murmur on her lips. Her eyes opened as one of her hands untangled from Sherlock's coat.

Sherlock shot John a dirty look. "It's alright, Spring," he murmured, gently placing one of his long fingers against the baby's lips. "No crying. You know that I dislike infantile noises."

John watched in what was very quickly becoming amazement as Sherlock became a _totally_ different person with the child. His harsh features melted away; he didn't quite get to a smile, but it wasn't a scowl, either. The cold, analysing look vaporised from his eyes, replaced with a warmth that John had, until now, thought impossible to be inside Sherlock's body. Sentiment was found in the losing side, but the sentiment was plain on Sherlock's face and it stated perfectly that he was _not_ on the losing side, after all.

"Uncle John's just got a big mouth," Sherlock said, thumbing drool away from Spring's face. "He was in the military, remember me saying? He had to shout to talk over all of the IEDs and gunfire."

John swallowed. He didn't know what was happening.

"Uncle John?" he asked weakly.

Sherlock gave an affirming nod. "Yes. Children like titles. Father, Mother... At such a young age, I'd imagine that it's important to teach them who is who in their family... To be honest, I've never done much research on it. Oh." He looked up. "I meant to ask if you would be her godfather."

John felt like the world was rushing past him at a warp speed that he couldn't comprehend. All he could do was mirror Sherlock's language and mimic the words. "Godfather...?"

"Yes. I would... enjoy it if you would be her legal godfather. She doesn't have a mother and I am prepared to take the role of the father, but I never anticipated a change in my life as drastic as this and I believe that I'll need assistance in taking care of her."

There was still yet a mystery here to be solved, but the warmth in the middle of his chest, growing steadily to encompass his arms, his neck, his torso, a glow, straight from the tip of his toes to his fingertips, to the tip of his hair, was filling him up, making his lips twitch upwards in a disbelieving smile. Sherlock wanted him to be his child's godfather. John didn't know how Sherlock had a child, but he _did_ know for sure that it _was_ his child. No man could look at an infant with such tenderness if it wasn't someone that they deeply cared for. Sherlock had the glow of fatherhood... a major surprise, but, all things considered, not one that was bad.

"Of course," John murmured, carefully sitting down next to Sherlock. Spring seemed to have fallen asleep again, her fingers clutching Sherlock's lapel. "But you've got to explain what's going on, Sherlock. This is happening way too fast."

"_You_ think it's happening too fast..." Sherlock murmured before raising his voice slightly. "Would you like to hold her?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yes."

Sherlock carefully transferred the sleeping child into John's arms. John had never admitted it and it wasn't yet anything that he and Mary had had a serious discussion about- they were only just planning their wedding, after all- but he loved kids. He'd never told Sherlock this because he figured that the detective would take the mickey out of him if he did. But now... it didn't matter much.

"She's beautiful... about two months?" John asked, looking up.

"A month and a half," Sherlock replied, finally getting around to shrugging his coat off.

"Month and a half," John echoed, smiling faintly at the baby in his arms.

He wanted kids. Mary wanted kids. They both wanted a family so John didn't doubt that he would have kids eventually, but... marriage first. One step at a time.

Oh, John loved kids. Spring was adorable.

"How did this happen?" John asked quietly, looking up at Sherlock.

"What?" Sherlock had walked to the kitchen and was pouring himself a cup of tea. "How did what happen?"

John pointedly looked down at the content little bundle in his arms.

"Oh, that," Sherlock said, sounding as flippant as he ever had about children again. "You're a doctor; you should know the answer to that."

John sighed. "I know _how_ it happened, but I want to how... _it_ happened? She is your biological daughter, right?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, taking a drink of his tea. "And she was created through intercourse, as you should very well know."

John sighed. "_Why_, though? You hate romance."

"It was for a case," Sherlock said, peering into a beaker on the countertop.

"You had sex for a _case_?" John asked. He had always known that Sherlock would do anything for his work, but... even this?

Sherlock didn't miss a beat. "Yes." He paused. "Does this honestly surprise you?"

"No. Yes." John looked back at Spring for a distraction. "I don't know. I guess nothing you do _should_ surprise me, anymore, but... it does, I guess." He trailed off. "And you got this... unknown woman pregnant?"

"Her name was Angelina." Sherlock paused in taking a sip of his coffee. "But yes. I did. The chances were astoundingly insignificant, but it was a spur of the moment decision at the time and we were rather unprepared. Unfortunately, that... miscalculation caused this." Sherlock carefully sat down next to John again. "... It's not a bad thing."

"No," John said quickly. "It is not."

There were quiet for awhile.

"Where's her mother? Do you guys have a shared custody or something? She seems a bit young to be away from her mum. She should still be-"

"She's dead."

John looked up. "... What?"

"Spring's mother is dead."

* * *

**It _is_ his biological daughter. Her mother _is_ dead. And more explanations _are_ necessary, right, Sherlock? More explanation and flashbacks to Spring's (very non-graphic) birth next chapter.**

**I do not own _Sherlock_. Thank you!**


	3. The Explanation

John can't help but stare up at Sherlock with an impending sense of dread. Spring, Sherlock's child's, mother was dead. Somehow, this shouldn't have surprised John but the idea of the small bundle of joy in his arms not having a mother was almost unfathomable.

"Why?" he managed to ask, trying to quell the sadness he felt for a child that he hadn't, until now, known about. And Sherlock; how had Sherlock reacted to the whole scenario? Certainly he hadn't loved the woman, but she had been his child's mother. That had to have meant something to him.

"She died during childbirth. Or rather, after. Internal haemorrhaging... I think," Sherlock added doubtfully, taking another drink of his coffee.

"You _think_? You were there for her birth, weren't you?"

"Yes, but..." Sherlock trailed off before picking up a different line of inquiry. "I have her birth on video if you'd like to witness it."

"What? Er, sure, I guess, if you're fine with it..."

"John. I engaged in intercourse with the woman in question for a case. I harboured no emotional attachment to her except for the small factor that she gave birth to my child. Besides, you're my best friend and a doctor. If circumstances would have been different, you would have been in the room," Sherlock said, having set down his coffee mug and now sitting next to John with his laptop. "I didn't at all trust the doctors that were taking care of her and I believe that it may be their fault that they didn't notice what was happening before it happened."

"Are you serious?"

Sherlock paused, his fingers stilling on the keyboard. "I'm not sure."

He continued typing, soon bringing up a video that had been recorded via mobile phone. It had been filmed portrait instead of landscape, making the edges of the room disappear behind blackness and the picture was blurring. It took John a moment to realise that the video was shaking because Sherlock's hands had been shaking. He didn't say anything about his realisation, but he smiled faintly all the same. Time and again, John was reminded htat Sherlock was as human as any of them, but it was still refreshing to renew the fact. Sherlock had been nervous. John would have called it sweet if it was anyone besides Sherlock.

The picture moved and there was a sigh. The video levelled out, returning to its correct position.

"It calms down in a moment. I was... nervous," Sherlock admitted, mostly under his breath.

John glanced at him. "Have you never witnessed a baby being born before?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"_Really?_" John asked, smiling. "It's one of the most beautiful things in the world."

"It's grotesque," Sherlock replied.

John rolled his eyes, a scream- or rather, an exclamation of swear words- drawing his attention back to the video.

_Sherlock rolled his eyes, flickering his gaze away from the doctors to Angelina and her boyfriend. Jack? James? What had been his name? He had learned it at some point, but it had never been relative; Angelina had been single during their late-night foray and Sherlock's investigation. The boyfriend was a new addition. The baby would be a new addition._

_These were certainly unforeseen circumstances._

_Sherlock irritably clenched his hand into a fist, trying to stop the trembles from shaking his body. Irrational that he should be nervous when he cared for neither the woman nor the child. He was not here for moral support so much as a learning experiment. He had never witnessed a birth and the birth of his own child was a pretty good way to begin. Still, why was he so nervous? The inexplicable urge to pace had drawn him from one corner of the hallway to the other for almost two hours straight earlier and even now, his stomach was in knots. He had never once before experienced what most called 'butterflies' but he had them now and he felt as sick as a dog. He could mark that feeling off his_

_what have I felt in my lifetime list and try very hard never to feel it again._

_Angelina gave another set of curses- the woman had a remarkable vocabulary, Sherlock had to admit, albeit if he found swearing pitiful in most cases. He had, unfortunately, picked the habit up a bit over the past three years, but with a case that had as many pitfalls as good points, it was a miracle that he hadn't started drinking or smoking or doing worse things. No, he was more intelligent than that... but_

_shit and damn and occasionally hell made it into his vocabulary if he was having a bad day._

_The swearing turned to a scream and Sherlock scowled, leaning further back into his chair. The swearing was better compared to the screaming. The screaming made Sherlock's head hurt and he pressed the hand that wasn't holding his mobile over an ear._

_"Do you think you could less inconsiderate, you prat?" Angelina spat, glaring at Sherlock. "You got me into this mess!"_

_"You're forgetting that this is just as much your fault as it is mine," Sherlock retorted. "And if you wouldn't yell, I wouldn't need to plug my ears."_

_"I wouldn't be yelling if you hadn't gone and knocked me- ah!"_

_Sherlock braced himself for another scream, scrunching his eyes closed. Annoyingly, the trembling in his own limbs intensified. The video on his mobile was going to be useless for research if he didn't stop shaking._

_He watched with feigned little interest as nurses rushed around. The hustle and bustle had been going on for quite some time, but, as Sherlock understood, the contractions were at the bit where Angelina would start pushing._

_Sherlock got to his feet and steadied his mobile, inching forward to be in the middle of the action despite the fact that he got a dirty looked from Jack/Jake/James/Jamie._

_"Could you turn that bloody thing off?!"_

_"No," Sherlock said simply. "It's research."_

_"Okay, you're turning it off-" J said, starting to stand up._

_"You stay right where you are, Jack, or so help me, your arse is going to be on the _street_!" Angelina shrieked._

_J (Jack, it was, then) sat back down, glaring stonily at Sherlock. Sherlock ignored him._

_"Okay, Angelina, on three, we're going to need you to push," the doctor said. "Alright? One... two... three!"_

_Sherlock's teeth worried his bottom lip at the screaming that followed. He had read up on childbirth, but never experienced a live birth (or any birth) before. It was stimulation to the max- for Angelina, because of the obvious unnatural delivering of the child through something that should never be used for such purposes- and for Sherlock, because of the sensory over-stimulation. There was too much to look at and too much to take in and, dammit, did every childbirth go like this? Sherlock's head was swimming._

_"Okay, good, relax. Good. Next contraction, we're going to do it again. One, two, three! I can see the head!"_

_Sherlock marked this down in his mind palace as easily one of the... most strange things that he had ever witnessed. It wasn't good and it wasn't bad, but it definitely wasn't good. It was disgusting and unnatural, but it was... normal. It was a paradox. Like everything else happening within this delivery room, it was making Sherlock's head hurt._

_He swallowed back nausea, pressing his lips together tightly. Vomiting would not remedy the situation at hand. No need to make himself feel worse._

_He was barely aware of the doctor giving the order to push again. Everything seemed muted. Fuzzy. Strange. At least the screaming was muffled. But his eyes-_

The video cut off abruptly.

John frowned, looking at Sherlock. "What was that?"

Sherlock studiously did not meet his gaze. "I passed out."

"... What?"

"I passed out. Did you not hear me?" Sherlock said, clapping his laptop shut and setting it onto the table. "I came to in time to see my daughter's entrance into the world and finding my mobile's battery pack, which had bounced out when it hit the floor, was not a large concern." He returned to his coffee, still not meeting John's eye.

John couldn't help the smile. "You passed out."

"I just said that, didn't I? There was too much going on in the delivery room; I had a headache and, by cause of sensory stimulation, I passed out."

"Sure."

Sherlock's nostrils flared but, as Spring shifted in John's arms, his attention immediately went back to the small child and the annoyance drained out of his face.

"You want her back?" John asked.

Sherlock shrugged, although he set his mug down as an invitation. John carefully transferred the sleeping infant to Sherlock's arms.

"Back in a moment," Sherlock said, starting for the stairs. He vanished to the room that had previously been John's and returned before thirty seconds had passed. Spring was not in his arms, so John could only assume that he had put the infant down for a nap.

John raised his eyebrows as the consulting detective walked back to the kitchen. They had so much to talk about, but Sherlock didn't appear to think it was much of a story. John wanted to know _everything_ and, as per usual, Sherlock wasn't inclined to say _anything_. This was going to be frustrating, he just knew it.

"John."

John looked across the room at Sherlock, who seemed too interested in the toaster. "What?"

"This experiment is _fantastic_. There's mould everywhere."

John sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes.

Some things never changed.

* * *

**As I mentioned on my profile, this story is going to become a series of related oneshots, each following a moment/age in Spring's lifetime. They will go in order (hopefully) with an array of scenarios as Spring grows up. This is going to be another one of those long-running stories with an indeterminate number of chapters that updates may be slow on. Think _He's Only Ever Human_, but with related oneshot chapters. Each chapter won't lead particularly into the next- I'm not going to do a day by day of Spring's life- but they will flow. So, yep, the layout is changing just a teensy bit. But still, father!lock and nanny!John. It's cute.**

**I do not own _Sherlock_. Thank you!**


	4. Two Months - Babysitting

Sherlock listened to the case details intently, although he didn't move away from his microscope. It was bad enough that Lestrade had to bother him when he was working on a case, but he had to bring Donovan with him. She hadn't said a word past muttering something about the state of the flat under her breath, so Sherlock didn't know what her purpose was but he was too intrigued by the chemical reaction under the microscope to make his snide remark. Donovan didn't matter. All that did was the experiment and quite possibly the case-

Spring's cries filtered through the baby monitor.

Sherlock's head snapped up immediately. His gaze flicked to his watch as he spun on the barstool and got to his feet. He didn't say a word to Lestrade as he took the stairs two at a time up to the bedroom.

"Hey, Spring," he said softly, scooping her into his arms with practiced ease. "Are you hungry?"

This motion was like clockwork. It was astounding how many times new-born infants thought that they needed to eat in a day's time. There was no regular schedule, as far as Sherlock could pinpoint, even though he kept track.

It had been awkward at first. Spring was so tiny, so fragile and breakable. Sherlock had never wanted kids. He didn't hate them, per se, while they were at this age. They were too young to know anything but, with the proper conditioning, they could grow up to be a genius. It was just once they started being conscious of themselves that Sherlock didn't like them. When they threw blocks or pulled hair or spread paste across the seat of your trousers- those were the times Sherlock didn't like them.

But, Spring, at her delicate age of two months old, was able to be taught. To be taught and to learn that crying excessively was frowned upon, that she wasn't allowed to touch any of his science equipment, that she couldn't expect him to be a great father.

Albeit Sherlock didn't know how much of this Spring actually absorbed, but Sherlock still talked as though she did. (But he only did that when he was alone because talking to an infant made him feel stupid.)

He descended the stairs again, bouncing Spring in his arms slightly. Lestrade and Donovan's eyes both locked onto him as he returned to the kitchen, but Sherlock didn't spare them a second glance. He immediately made for the stove to warm the formula that Spring most like was crying for.

"What the hell is that?" Donovan snapped.

"Donovan-"

"She's my daughter. Honestly, how can you be so stupid?" Sherlock asked, dipping a finger into the formula. He decided that it was warm enough and he flipped open the cabinet to grab a bottle. Single-handedly, he filled the bottle, switched Spring to his opposite arm, and gave her the bottle. With this arrangement, Sherlock didn't have an available hand to continue adding chemicals into his experiment, although he did return to his seat at the microscope and twist his head to peer into the eyepiece.

"How the _hell_ do _you_ have a daughter?"

"Donovan, that's enough," Lestrade said sharply.

"In the same way that caused a pregnancy scare with you and Anderson three weeks ago," Sherlock replied easily, not looking up.

He didn't have to be looking to imagine the look of shock on Donovan's face and it was only from sheer determination that Sherlock didn't smirk. Plus, his mind was distracted by other things, like the experiment and the little noises that Spring made whenever she swallowed a mouthful of the formula.

"_Anyway_," Lestrade interrupted. "Sherlock, would you listen to me? You told me to inform you when we thought we had anything to do with the Rigel case; as I've been trying to tell you, we found his brother. Dead."

Sherlock looked up slowly. "Dead? _Fascinating_. How, when, where, why?" He got to his feet, swiping his mobile from the countertop.

"Same manner of death. He was found yesterday, at the dock, just outside of their boat. As for the 'why', we were hoping- _I_ was hoping," Lestrade amended when Donovan muttered under her breath, "that you would tell us."

Sherlock's fingers fluidly ran over the keyboard of his phone, typing out a quick text to John. (Stupid John and his stupid wife and his stupid boring life. If he were still living here, texts would be unnecessary. He could have simply shouted.)

_Case. Available for babysitting?_  
_S_

John texted back after a thirty-seven second delay, just as Spring turned her head away from the bottle.  
_  
I can be there in twenty_

Sherlock frowned, tapping out another message impatiently. He transferred Spring to his shoulder, patting her back.

_John. CASE._  
_S_

When the return message appeared, Sherlock smirked in triumph.

_Fine. Ten minutes!_

Sherlock closed his fingers around his mobile just at the moment that Spring burped. He looked up at Lestrade without missing a beat.

"I'll be there in fifteen."

He turned and walked away without another word. He returned to the extra-bedroom-turned-nursery, gently placing Spring back into her crib. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the mobile spinning, capturing the young toddler's attention.

"Uncle John will play peek-a-boo with you when he gets here," Sherlock said conversationally, straightening his blazer. While he didn't understand the logic behind the ridiculously childish game, Spring seemed to be amused whenever John peeked at her through his fingers. "Or you can have a kip."

John got to the flat twelve minutes later. Sherlock handed a very fussy Spring off to him before he went running down the stairs.

"She needs changed! I'm late for the case!"

"Oi, Sherlock...!" John sighed, before looking at Spring cheerfully. "Your Daddy just does this on purpose, doesn't he? Or maybe it's just you. Is he teaching you bad things?" he asked, tickling her tummy.

Spring simply smiled in response.

* * *

**This is going to be the format of this story from now on. Sort of like _He's Only Ever Human_, if you follow me, in a series of otherwise-stated unrelated oneshots following Spring's life. So, basically, John and Sherlock being nannies and taking care of the 'daughter' together, without the actual Johnlock for people who don't enjoy the Johnlock, sparing as we may be. :)**

**I do not own _Sherlock_. Thank you!**


	5. Three and a Half Months- Second Guessing

John knew by the sound of Sherlock's voice when he rung him that morning that this wasn't his usual antics. Or maybe Spring's crying in the background had something to do with it. Either way, John said he'd be over as soon as possible and, after throwing a coat on over his pyjamas, found a late-night cab to Baker Street.

The flat was absolutely silent, save the crying, but what else did John expect at two in the morning? Smoke alarms and miniature explosions? Sherlock had a three and half month year old in his possession. The detective would never admit it, but John was sure that he was lot more tired these days.

Especially going by the state of the consulting detective in question that was curled up on the sofa, Spring in his arms.

His hair was a ruffled, tangled mess, his red-rimmed eyes were unfocussed and his eyelids were drooping. He was pale, there were dark smudges under his eyes, and he was trembling ever so slightly.

John recognised the symptoms as pure exhaustion. He'd seen the look one too many times when Sherlock had been on a particularly gruelling case.

"Let me have her," John murmured, striding across the room to take Spring from Sherlock. "Go take a sleeping pill and go to sleep."

"Why won't she stop crying?!" Sherlock exploded, which made John flinch and Spring cry even harder. "She won't take the bottle, doesn't need changed, I even played the violin for her and it always put her to sleep, but not this time."

"Shhh..." John murmured, rubbing Spring's back. "Sherlock, I don't know. She might be developing colic."

"Colic?" Sherlock repeated. His voice was half an octave higher than it usual was. "I don't want her to have colic!"

John sighed. "Trust me, no one wants her to have colic. Seriously, Sherlock, go to bed. I'll take care of her. Get some sleep."

"I can't do this, John," Sherlock moaned, grabbing a pillow and burying his face into it. "I can't. I don't know how all of this _works_."

"Hey, you're doing fine," John said, bouncing Spring lightly. Truth be told, he didn't know how all of it worked, either. He wasn't a paediatrician. Spring, or maybe Sherlock, was lucky that he seemed to be able to tap into his paternal instincts more easily.

Sherlock gave him a pointed look from underneath his pillow.

"Oh, come on, Sherlock, this the first night that she's done this since you've brought her home? That's pretty good. You're lucky she sleeps through the night most of the time."

"_I_ don't even sleep through the night most of the time," Sherlock retorted.

John rolled his eyes. "That's not the point."

"John, you constantly said that I couldn't take care of myself; how can I take care of a _child_?" he said the word venomously. "I never wanted _kids_."

"You're doing fine, Sherlock."

Spring wailed louder.

"I'm _hideous_ at it!" Sherlock exclaimed, curling up tighter on the couch.

John sighed. One thing at a time. "You tried the bottle?"

"Yes."

"And music... Did you put her against your chest so she can feel you talking? Or hear your heartbeat?"

"John, I've been holding her almost _all night_."

"The pram?"

"Didn't work."

"Cab ride?"

Sherlock peered out from under the pillow. "What?"

Finally, something. "Take her out in a cab. Babies sometimes fall asleep more easily when they're in a car."

Sherlock blinked lethargically before pushing the pillow away. "Okay. Come on." He made for his coat.

"Oh, no, Sherlock, you need to sleep. I'll take her out. Go to bed."

"I want to come," Sherlock said, shoving his arms through his coat sleeves. "I want to analyse. Come on."

"Sherlock, you don't have any shoes on."

Three minutes later, with a crying Spring in John's arms and Sherlock's shoes on his feet, they all piled into a cab. The cabbie seemed less than thrilled to have a wailing baby in tow, but given Sherlock's appearance, the cabbie (wisely) did not say a word.

It took three turns around the block before Spring's wailing quieted off to whimpers, then snuffles, and finally, losing track of how many times they'd gone around the block, silence altogether. She'd fallen asleep.

John smiled and turned to look at Sherlock, a half second before the detective's curly mop of dishevelled hair dropped onto his shoulder.

"Sherlock?"

All that met his question was a quiet snore from the man himself.

John sighed, looking from Sherlock to Spring. Life with the Holmes children was a full time occupation.

* * *

**Huzzah! A wild muse has appeared! Had a lovely picture of both Sherlock and Spring falling asleep, essentially in John's arms (although Sherlock's only using his shoulder for a pillow...) and, thus, a new chapter. And I had to throw some Sherlock!whump in, because the only time he would ever give face to any fears he has is when he's half hysteric from exhaustion.**

**I do not own _Sherlock_, as per usual. Ta!**


	6. Five Months - Father Daughter Bonding

Sherlock pressed his lips into a thin line. He wasn't angry, although anyone except the girl in front of him may have backed away in preparation of being chastised.

But no, Spring simply giggled and closed one of her little hands around the fuzzy mane of a unicorn plushie and shook it up and down. Quite quickly, her hand let go of the plush and the unicorn made a half-hearted attempt to fly at Sherlock... And, of course, given who was trying to throw it, it fell to the ground halfway between the distance.

Spring giggled again and reached forward, almost pitching herself onto her face in attempts to pick up the unicorn again.

"No, _look_. You have to put your arms out to catch yourself or you're going to fall on your face," Sherlock said.

He picked up the unicorn and handed it back to her, eyes intent on her actions. He felt like she was about to start crawling. It was like she was doing this awkward thing in _attempts_ to crawl... or maybe she was deciding halfway through it that it wasn't worth it to try. John had said kids could start crawling around six months, but that each child was different and it could take longer.

Sherlock was sure that Spring was going to be superior in every way.

Spring started wailing, snapping Sherlock back to the present. His eyes focussed on her again and he looked around quickly. "What? What did you do?"

The unicorn was laying, discarded, maybe three inches from Sherlock's knees. He frowned at Spring, looked at the unicorn, and then back at Spring.

"What?" he asked again, picking up the plush and offering it back to her.

He was rubbish with the crying thing. It hurt his ears and it made his head ache; in a truth that he would not admit to anyone else, he had found one thing that was more difficult than trying to deduce women: trying to deduce a crying child.

He knew the usuals. Hungry, nappy, tired. Occasionally Spring started crying if Sherlock was busy with an experiment. Sherlock hated that.

Spring trailed off into a snuffle, peering at the white and pink (one of Mycroft's assistants had picked it out) unicorn. Then she reached out and snapped it away from Sherlock, holding it close.

Sherlock made a face and leaned back against the chair. "Well, you just had it. Don't cry at me when you're the one throwing it about."

Spring waved it at him before letting it go again. It bounded haphazardly to Sherlock's knees again.

"Spring, this is tedious."

When Sherlock didn't immediately make to hand the plushie back to Spring, her face screwed up in preparation for more tears.

Eyes widening slightly, Sherlock grabbed the unicorn and offered it back to her again. "Here, here!"

Spring's pout turned to childish amusement again and she took it back.

Sherlock's head fell to the side a few degrees, a small smile making his lips twitch. "You make no sense."

Spring giggled and threw the unicorn. Sherlock caught it before it hit the ground this time, his almost absent smile turning into a grin. "I see. You were crying because I wasn't handing the plush back to you." An idea lit up his eyes. "Hey, _you_ catch it!"

He tossed the plush back at her- gently, of course. Nonetheless, being a five month old with little to no coordination on some days, she, of course, did not catch it. It bounced off of her cheek, actually, which pushed Sherlock closer to a laugh than he probably should have been.

If it was possible for a five month old to look affronted, Spring managed it spectacularly.

It efficiently pushed Sherlock over the edge and his quiet laughter broke the otherwise silence of the flat. Still chuckling, he picked up the plush again and held it out. "Sorry. My mistake, love."

He froze immediately, hand still on the plushie. _Love_? Had he just called her _love_? His cheeks grew hot, any previous humour immediately drying up in the face of embarrassment. At least John hadn't been there to hear that...

"Never again," he mumbled, turning his attention back to his daughter.

* * *

Mycroft leaned back in his chair, resting his fingertips together lightly. There was the semblance of a smile on his face as he watched the video feed of 221B Baker Street.

If nothing else, his rambunctious brother having a child surely presented the chance for plenty of sly teasing.

Smiling to himself, he closed his laptop.

* * *

**Wild muse strikes again. I'm bad at this; I'm sorry. It's really actually difficult to write Spring this young... but she's getting older. :) Plans for six months onward, though, so _maybe_ updates won't be as slow. No promises, though; muses are fi****ckle things.**

**I do not own _Sherlock_. Thank you!**


End file.
